


ladylike

by MaryPSue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: A dash of meta, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Humor, Pre-Canon, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: “What has my brother to do with the fairness of -” There’s a step at the door, and Thor turns to see, mid-sentence, how the two connect. “- maidens.”...Loki does some shapeshifting. Nobody else really knows what to make of that.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	ladylike

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to articulate my feelings about how Lady Loki always seems to be drawn and ended up with a ficlet. The thought did briefly cross my mind that I might not have enough knowledge of relevant comix canon/lore/whatever to have an informed opinion, but then I remembered that I’ve never let that stop me before. I did set it in the movieverse so I'd have a nice blank slate to play with, though.
> 
> It occurs to me that a Jessica Rabbit gif likely would have sufficed and been much more succinct, but oh well; hindsight.
> 
> He/him pronouns are used for Loki throughout, but it's from Thor's perspective, so take that as you will.

“But what is the point in being a woman, if not a beautiful one?”

The meaning of Fandral’s curious comment does not immediately become clear when Thor rounds the corner into the feast-hall. His friends sit at opposite ends of the table, Sif upright and taut with anger, Fandral splayed lounging across two chairs. Thor does not see Hogun or Volstagg – both, it seems, wisely keeping their distance from what is quickly shaping up to be a fight.

Sif smiles like a bright blade in the sunlight, her eyes fierce, as she says sharply, “I don’t know. What is the point in being a man, if not a wise one?”

“But a man cannot choose his wits. Whereas _he -_ ” Fandral breaks off mid-sentence at the sight of Thor, beaming in his direction as he beckons him forward. “Thor! Can you explain to us what your brother is up to?”

Thor looks from Fandral to Sif, failing to see the connection between Loki and their conversation. Perhaps Fandral wishes only to change the subject, to prevent the fight that any fool could see brewing. If so, he has chosen wisely. The Lady Sif has roundly defeated him on every occasion they have sparred, and that was when she was not spurred on by righteous fury. “Loki’s working some mischief?”

Sif and Fandral exchange a look.

“He’s certainly working at _something_ ,” Sif says, at last. “Flawed as your friend Fandral’s logic is, his conclusion is at least sound.”

“My logic is impeccable,” Fandral protests. “If _I_ had the choice, I would not be a maiden unless I could be assured to be the fairest in the court.”

“That’s because you’re vain,” Sif snaps back.

“I’m confused,” Thor admits. “What has my brother to do with the fairness of -” There’s a step at the door, and he turns to see, mid-sentence, how the two connect. “- maidens.”

Loki – it is, unmistakably, Loki – meets his eyes with a quirk of one eyebrow, as though challenging Thor to ask. He should, by now, know that Thor has never in his life shied from a challenge. Still, Thor finds his tongue tied, trying to find a way to ask the obvious question.

“Loki,” he manages, at last, with a gesture that encompasses his brother’s green gown and the figure beneath. “What is…this?”

Loki’s voice is also unmistakably _Loki’s_ , though with a lighter pitch that somehow makes his mocking reply sound the crueller. “What does it look like?”

“It looks,” Thor says, because he has found that, when he states the obvious, there is less opportunity for Loki to twist his meaning, “as though you’ve taken the shape of a maiden.”

Loki’s eyebrows rise in apparent disbelief, but he says only, “Yes, Thor, congratulations on having eyes.” His smile is both sweet and unsettling. “I’m working on my shapeshifting.”

Fandral, Thor must admit, does have some semblance of a point. His brother, guised as a woman, is – not _ugly_ , but certainly no vision either. His hair is clean and carefully dressed but unornamented, his face bare, though there is gold at his throat and rich embroidery in his gown. Thor might have passed him in the hall and failed to notice who it was he passed, were his high cheekbones and fine chin and straight, strong nose not still so unmistakably _Loki_.

They are features a little too delicate for a man. Now, Thor sees, they are also a little too strong for a woman.

It makes no sense. Surely, if this is shapeshifting, then this appearance is one his brother chose. But Loki has never been one to shy from attention – except when dodging the consequences of some prank. Never been one not to loudly proclaim his own glory in both word and dress. For him to look so…so _unremarkable_ is – uncharacteristic, even disregarding the part where he’s unexpectedly a maiden.

“You look so…” Thor starts, trying to put the thought into words, and Loki arches one eyebrow.

“Ladylike?”

“Plain,” Thor says, admitting defeat.

Loki’s expression barely changes, but there is a certain tightness around his mouth and narrowing of his eyes that tells Thor to watch out for knives in his immediate future. “This is how I usually look.”

“It’s just not like you,” Thor says, hastily. “You’re usually so…dramatic.”

“I see,” Loki says flatly. “You expected something more like - this.”

A faint green-gold shimmer washes over him head to toe. When it clears, there is no inch of Loki left unaltered. Thor has to look hastily away from the pale expanse of cleavage revealed by his low-cut, tightly-fitted breastplate, framed by the enormous, luxurious fur tossed over his shoulders and the cascade of his unbound hair. Looking away, though, means that Thor must find somewhere else to rest his gaze, which means his eye sweeps over the entirety of Loki’s tight costume (surely he was not hiding _those_ curves under the other dress?) before finally landing on his brother’s big, darkly-lined eyes. Loki’s nose seems smaller, his jaw narrower, cheeks softer, lips fuller and painted a dark, glossy purple, rendering his face lovely but severe and a little strange. Even the way he stands is different, weight on one hip, exaggerating the already exaggerated slenderness of his waist.

He looks, Thor thinks, once he recovers from the momentary shock, distinctly womanly. And distinctly unimpressed.

“Well?” Loki demands, when no one makes any comment.

“That _is_ more what we expected, yes,” Fandral says brightly.

The stare Loki fixes him with is venomous.

“And that’s precisely why I chose _this_ ,” he says, the shimmer racing back over him, changing him back to the simpler appearance of a few moments before. “At the moment, I have no need and even less desire to impress the Fandrals of the world.”

The Lady Sif hastily turns a snort of laughter into a cough, hiding it behind one hand.

“Mother will be most pleased with your spellwork,” Thor tries, and Loki rolls his eyes.

“Oh, go hit something with your hammer.” He turns to leave, but pauses a moment in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “The _point_ is not in beauty any more so than womanhood itself is.”

And then, with a rustle of skirts, he’s gone.

“Did either of you understand that?” Fandral asks, looking from Sif to Thor.

Sif gives a huff, rising to her feet. She addresses herself to Thor when she speaks. “It’s not often that your brother and I agree on something, Thor, but he makes a compelling point.” Her grin is very bright. “I’m going down to the training ring. You both are welcome to join me. If you feel equal to being beaten by a _maiden_.”

“Well, you both heard Loki,” Thor says. “I find myself under strict instructions to go hit something with my hammer.”

…

Thor spends a pleasant afternoon sparring with his friends, and does not see Loki again until dinner. Loki, it seems, has chosen to remain in the shape of a maiden, despite the darting, disapproving look his appearance draws from their father. Loki seems not to notice it, turning instead to their mother and engaging her in a fervent conversation on the finer points of physical transformation.

It takes Thor until partway through the meal to realise what is different about Loki – that is, what is different from that morning. He has kept the green gown, the simple braids, the smaller (and better-covered) bust, even the strong, sharp features.

But, Thor realises, watching his brother laugh at some quiet comment of their mother’s, Loki has also kept the purple-painted lips.

Loki looks up, as though feeling Thor’s eyes on him, and smiles. It is a conspiratorial smile, and, as Thor watches, Loki meets his eye and winks.

Thor smiles to himself, as he turns back to his meal.

And he alone at the long table, save for Loki, is not startled when Fandral suddenly yelps and leaps to his feet with a horrified look at his plate.


End file.
